


a blade's truth

by Arzani



Series: what is left [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post Series, Violence, a little but mentioning it just in case, attempted rape (not explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: My personal reaction fic to 4.09. I better get this out before the finale airs tomorrow.“So much happened on that island both of us will never forget. Even back in the days of Avery, people used to tell ghost stories of that place. Stories filled with monsters, demons. But our demons are so real, Madi. They are so real… and no one will be around to help him fight them.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of thanks to [dornfelder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder) and [AngryPirateHusbands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands) for betaing this little fic :)

How long would it be until John sailed for Skeleton Island, again? James counted the days in his head, and the absence of two numbers next to each other made him shudder. Only nine more days. That was not enough time to accustom himself to the loss it would bring. What was a sail without wind? A flower without water? What was his broken soul, that had been shattered into a thousand pieces, without John holding the parts together? He and Madi were the world in balance. They were _his_ world in balance.

“What are you thinking of?” a voice murmured next to his ear, and just when the words had been spoken, warm arms slipped around his waist. They tethered him to the present. James leaned into the touch and reveled in the comfort it brought. Madi was so much smaller than him, yet she felt like a mountain, solid and strong.

“So much happened on that island both of us will never forget. Even back in the days of Avery, people used to tell ghost stories of that place. Stories filled with monsters, demons. But our demons are so real, Madi. They are so real… and no one will be around to help him fight them.”

His voice had gone flat, barely above a whisper. His chest clenched and something solid wrapped around his heart, tightening and threatening. As a response, the arms around his waist also tightened their grip, too. James was thankful for it and his eyes traveled down his upper body. They took in the sight of her dark skin, highlighted with leather wristbands, against the cotton fabric of his dark shirt.

“He promised to come back, and I believe in his words. Do you?” she asked, her voice gentle and comforting. It felt like a petal dancing in the wind.

“I do.” James sighed. He put his hands on hers and intertwined their fingers. It was easy to look around the inn while he stood behind the counter, and it still amazed him how freely he could walk around without people pointing out who he used to be. People believed Captain Flint was dead, and so they didn’t look out for him. Ghosts belonged to ghost islands.

Maybe it was helped by the hair that had grown back to the length of his chin, the lack of sailors’ clothing and his neatly trimmed beard. Maybe it helped that most people who had known him as Captain Flint were dead, and those who weren’t did not wish to see him hanging from the gallows. He wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be a fond realization or a tragic one.

Whatever it was, James was grateful to be alive. All the time he had fought Thomas’ war, every second he breathed in loss and grief, he had never believed to walk away from it alive. He had thought about walking away. Miranda had asked him to, had reminded him about the possibility. But it had needed John and Madi, their love and remembrance of life, to actually ensure him it was worth it. To breathe. To live. To love, again.

If not John, hopping from one end of the inn to the other, chatting easily with strangers and patrons alike, smirking and laughing, telling stories and listening intently, who else would be able to remind James about the beauty of another day? Who else, if not John, who breathed life like others did air?

_The world with its unending horrors…_

Every day was a chance to put the past behind and create a new future. It had taken long for James to understand, but he believed it now. As he watched John, he believed it. And how beautiful was it, to see those bright blue eyes sparkle, to see those lips quirk upwards, and to know how those dark curls felt under the skin of his own fingers.

“You stare.” Madi chuckled and pulled James back into reality, again, making him realize he indeed had been staring. Shifting slightly to face her, James also realized she had moved from behind and stood next to him, their sides touching slightly. She was like the radiant sun, bright and open and… oh so happy. The edges of her lips curled upwards, revealing her amusement. Maybe James should be embarrassed, but they were way past that.

“Indulge me, please. I won’t be able to in a few more days.” Peeking sideways he noticed the sad glimmer in her expressions where he had hoped to see fond exasperation. It came and went in no time, until all that was left were the smooth lines of her face and the narrow wrinkles around her eyes. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead – not able to give her more in the public space they were in – and whispered, “You should, too.”

And honestly, he wasn’t so sure if he meant her to start staring, or trust in John’s promise to come back.

* * *

“She was the queen of thieves, right?” Miranda asked, her face open and intrigued. She never tired of hearing about pirates, about Nassau and the open sea that had given and taken so much. As if she was aware she hadn’t been born on English soil, even though she didn’t know of her parent’s pasts. The names of Captain Flint, Long John Silver and many more were just that, simple names used to tell stories. All three of them, Madi, John and James alike, had agreed on telling her when she would understand about the dangers it might bring. Which, at this point, James wasn’t sure would ever happen. Because maybe, maybe Miranda would be happier with the past lying in the abyss.

“She was said to be, yes,” James answered, remembering Eleanor the way she had been. The fierce woman that had fought for Nassau to be a free place, a home where people like her and him could live freely. Now she was only remembered as the queen of thieves.

“What happened to her?”

The memory washed over him like a wave over sand, bringing and taking so much, and leaving nothing like it had been before. But James gulped around the lump in his throat. His eyes found those of his daughter, so much like his. They sparkled with a green hue he saw every day when he was facing himself in the mirror. Yet, embedded in a face like smooth caramel and framed by dark hair, they looked softer than his could ever be. For her sake, Miranda’s sake, and the sake of his family, he wouldn’t give into his past that sometimes felt like a mountain weighing him down.

“She died. That’s what people say when you ask them. Not every person is a good one,” James said slowly, measuring his words. Miranda was aware of death. It was hard not to be these days, where death was all around you, every day. But he also didn’t want to send her to sleep with a story likely to give her nightmares. She was only ten. Wise like her mother and witty like her father – not him. She had adapted John to a great extent – but she was still a child to be protected. And James would protect her as long as he lived.

“Not every person is a bad one either, right? Mama always says there is no black or white.” As if on cue, Miranda lifted her arm from the blanket she was wrapped in and inspected her color of skin. With a smile, she placed her arm next to James’. Many people would find it hard to believe she was his daughter, seeing his freckled-painted skin next to her warm caramel tan. But James was also aware that many people didn’t dig any deeper and never expected it to be possible that love didn’t care for origin. Or blood. Or society.

“No, there is not, but a lot of gray in between,” he said with a smile, wondering if Miranda really understood all of what was said here, or if she only repeated Madi’s words. Whatever it was, James was glad about the innocence that surrounded her. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her forehead and tugged the soft fabric of the blanket under her chin. It was past bedtime and even though Miranda was in bed, she wasn’t sleeping like she was supposed to be. “I’ll see you tomorrow, princess. Sleep well and dre-“

The sentence was cut off by a scream echoing through the wooden floor from down below. For a second everything in James froze and his eyes were locked on Miranda’s dark hair. Then he snapped back into action as adrenaline rushed through his veins. The faint remembrance of the pained noise was still audible in his ears, running through his mind in an endless loop. Madi. That had been Madi.

“Stay here,” James ordered, aware of the fear in Miranda’s eyes, but there was nothing he could do to soothe it just now. “Don’t come down.”

With quick steps he was at the door and while he ran, he searched for anything to use as a weapon. But there was nothing useful hanging from the walls, and as he rushed down the steps to the inn, he cursed the lack of his sword.

“Take it,” he had said to John, before he had left for Skeleton Island. “Take it! You will have greater need of it than I.”

Another scream, muffled and pained, reached his ear and James sped up, almost tripping over his own feet on the narrow stairs. Cursing loudly, he steadied himself with his hands on the railing, before he slammed the connecting door to the tavern open. It only took him a moment to see Madi cornered with two men in front of her. One was holding her arms, bulging, filthy fingers squeezing her skin, while the other ripped at her clothes. It was all James needed to see to forget himself.

Blood ran hot through his veins and the noise rung in his ears. Every pained groan when his knuckles connected with one of the men’s jaws sounded sharp and satisfactory. Colors swayed in his vision, everything going down in a blur. The last time he had felt the darkness rising in him and found pleasure in its total consumption had been when he had killed Alfred Hamilton. No one had stopped him back then, going on and on and on until the man had been lifeless under his fingers.

“James! JAMES! STOP!”

But this time there was someone to stop him and it was the fear in the so familiar voice that let him falter. Harder than any hit, Madi’s tremor kicked his senses back in. Looking down on his fists he realized he was holding an unconscious body, the hem of the man’s shirt smeared with blood. Following the trail to the man’s face, he realized it was his doing. A broken nose and jaw, bloodied skin, open wounds. Only ragged breaths stated the man was still alive. A few more hits, and he wouldn’t have been.

Lowering his arms, James caught his breath. His whole body was tense and shaking. His fist was still clenched tightly around the blood-soaked fabric, but his eyes searched and found Madi’s. She was his tether, his anchor and he needed her so much to find his true self again. The relief that she showed no disgust, no malice or fear for his actions, took all the shock from him. There was only worry in her expression, carved in every line and as old as their bond. His knees gave way under him and he sacked down a little. Before he could hit the floor, he steadied himself. His fist still held the stranger upright.

From the corner came a whimper and James remembered the second man only now. He had scrambled away, panic radiating from every fiber. The scene flashed in front of James’ inner eye, how he had pulled him from Madi and thrown him down, before he had started to beat the other senseless. It didn’t matter that the men were taller than James and broader, they hadn’t stood a chance against him. The ruthlessness of Captain Flint still simmered somewhere deep down in his soul and it scared James. It scared him that this part of him would never truly die, regardless of his attempts to kill the former pirate monster. John and Madi’s attempt to kill Captain Flint.

“Get out of here,” he pressed through gritted teeth, holding back the animal that wanted to leash out again. “Take your bastard of a friend and never come back.” He threw the body in his hands towards the hurled-in man, limbs crashing against chairs, knocking them down in their way. “And never, ever, touch a woman again!”

He had never seen someone leave a room faster, especially while dragging an unconscious man behind them. It might have impressed James, had he not suddenly felt so damn exhausted. When the two were gone, he walked to the door on insecure feet, closed it and turned the sign from open to closed. Madi had to have been in the middle of cleaning and closing when the two had come in. It was such a rational thought, to imagine Madi with a cloth in her hand, swiping tables, that James wasn’t aware how he sank down, shaking.

His back pressed against the wooden door and he felt the coldness from outside seeping through the cracks. It left him shuddering, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Instead he took in the inn, so neat with the chairs on the tables, the absence of guest and the low crackling of the last remains of the fire. If it hadn’t been for the blood-drops on the floor in between some fallen chairs, James wouldn’t have guessed what had almost happened. His gaze snapped to Madi, who leaned against a table, rubbing her face. She looked younger than ever, pale and vulnerable. It was a sight James had never wanted to see.

“Madi?” he whispered, his voice cracking, but it was enough. Her hands fell to her sides and she met his eyes. They were dark and exhausted, but calmer than James had anticipated. They distracted him from her ripped blouse and her rumpled skirt. She still looked like a queen, graceful and regal, despite her pain. She had always been stronger than him. “I’m sorry.”

Whatever it was she saw, it moved her to action. James watched her walk towards him until she was kneeling next to his shaking frame. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he buried his nose in the crook of her neck, letting his tears fall and fall. He wasn’t ashamed of what he had done, oh, he would do it again, to protect the ones he loved. But the way he had done it, forgetting himself and letting the darker side win, was what teared at him. Glad that Madi didn’t judge him, he let her soothing voice lead him back to the light she was. When he was certain the shadows of his past had faded, he shooed Madi up to take care of Miranda - and herself. The last step back into the light was one he needed to do by himself, and it was to forgive his own crimes.

* * *

They had moved from Bristol to the countryside of England not even a week after the incident. Long before John had set out for Skeleton Island they had decided to leave the city behind. All that had been left to do was to liquidate their assets, pack their belongings, and travel. It had been John who had bought the house, so he knew where to come back to. And he would. There was no space for thinking otherwise.

Closing his eyes, James breathed in the clear air and let his mind still for a moment. He sat on the veranda, the first warm sunrays of spring shining down on his nose, giving his freckles a chance to bloom. His back leaned against one of the massive pillars holding up the ceiling. A carving knife lay next to him, loosely held between his fingers. Miranda wanted to have a swing and though there was other, more needed, furniture to be made, James had been unable to refuse his daughter’s wish. When he was done with the house, he probably would offer his services to the nearby village. They needed at least to pretend to need money, or else they could move quickly enough again.

“What are you thinking of?” a voice said and startled him out of his reverie. Cracking his eyes open, he was blinded by the sun. While he adjusted, Madi sat down, pushing the wood for the swing aside and taking the knife in her hand. Her onyx eyes traveled down the blade and it made James halt in his attempt to wrap an arm around her waist. Instead he lifted his hand to brush over her cheek.

“The question should be what you are thinking of,” he answered. His fingers caressed her skin, and Madi leaned into the touch, cupping his hand with her own, free one.

“I close my eyes and I see Eleanor. I hear her ask me if it’s possible to live a life with the ones you love. I remember how she tried to protect me and failed. I hear Woods Rogers ask me if I would bargain a war for John’s life. I remember I thought I was strong…”

She stopped, but nothing of James’ tension vanished. His back had stiffened the moment he had heard Madi utter Eleanor’s name. With it the past had rushed back, every single memory threatening to overwhelm him with anxiety and grief. Like a cage that had been opened just a crack, to see if the monster was still inside. It loomed in the darkness, but whether it was hungry enough to leave its housing to hunt was unclear.

Her face turned to him, her dark eyes seeking his, and for the first time it hit James that she needed protection from her own darkness, too. Somewhere deep inside her was a place she feared and it made her understand John’s and his own demons. It broke his heart a little, the blindness he had carried all those years, but it also closed the cage effectively. The monster still hidden in the depths of his soul. With a kiss, slow and reassuring, he tried to give her all the strength she so easily gifted to them.

When they let go, one hand of hers clutched his shirt, while the other gripped the carving knife tightly. There was something intense in her gaze, something fierce in her posture.

“When those men attacked me, I felt so weak, James. I couldn’t protect myself. I have survived a war, but I can’t survive a pair of drunken bastards. I want you to train me. So this will never happen again.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched at the words. The idea of Madi needing to wield a sword was shocking to him. Wasn’t he there to protect her? Wasn’t John? Yet, as he looked at her, holding onto the knife, her determination visible in every single fiber, he knew she was right. One day he would be gone. James was, after all, so much older than the two of them, and the war had left scars of uncertain depth. He didn’t even dare hope he would outlive John and Madi.

And John? John was wonderful, strong, canny, and the best of them. He was a fierce flame, a blooming tree and a buzzing hive. But no one could deny he would always struggle with the loss of his leg.

“Alright!” he finally said, and the irritation on Madi’s face amused him. With a smirk he reached for the knife and took if from her. Twirling it in his fingers, he eyed it from all sides and then tucked it in his belt. Pushing himself up, he turned toward the door until Madi’s voice stopped him. He had anticipated her words.

“Where are you going?” she asked and James didn’t even look back.

“Getting you a real weapon,” he answered, before he marched into the house. Somewhere there had to be be a dagger, he was certain of it.

* * *

James had no idea when his training sessions with Madi had turned to equal sparrings between them. She fought so differently than John did, but it reminded him of those weeks on the sandy hills on Maroon Island nonetheless. He wondered why he had never thought of training her before. He wondered why she had never asked.

Steel met steel, and the sounds of the clashing rung it his ears. It brought a faint smell of ocean, a wind tousling his hair and the remembrance of dark curls flying free. God, he missed John, and he hoped for his return. He saw the same in Madi’s eyes, in her fierceness and elegance. They were way past the amount of time he had had to train with John. Months had passed and by now he wasn’t sure who was the better fighter. James had years of knowledge ahead of her, as well as the natural force of strength a man was granted. But Madi was quick and she knew how to use her environment to her advantage. Could she beat John? He really wasn’t sure.

One hand behind his back, he let his body move without giving it much thought. John had once asked him if he wasn’t concerned. Concerned that training him would give him an advantage over James. Because each person’s fighting style was unique. He had been right and wrong.

John had always held an advantage over James. Because James had always loved him. There was no way he could hurt the other man. Not even back on Skeleton Island. Not even when it would have saved his own life.

His hand moved upwards to parry one of Madi’s attacks. Smiling at her, he surged forward and his cutlass was blocked just as effortlessly. Their gazes met, they breathed in the same air, chests heaving. Turning around, her hair flew and she attacked again. Attack. Block. Parry. Riposte.

James would also never be able to hurt Madi. She was as unique as John, and therefore James loved her in his very own way. Just as unique as his love was to John. Just as their two fighting styles were their own. Different. Neither better nor worse.

Concerned? He was past concern. Past worry. Past his past.

With another strike his blade stopped just inches from her throat and he could hear a very ungentlemanly “Fuck!” It made him chuckle. After all, love also always needed some similarities.

Swirling his cutlass in his hand, he watched Madi intently. Drops of sweat trickled down her temple, her clothes stuck to her body and she was panting. But there was a fire in her eyes that let James heart beat faster. Similarities bloomed in the most unexpected places. He had always been drawn to strange things.

“I’d say we leave it at that, today,” he said and finally lowered his arm. Madi followed his example and nodded. They both stuck their blades into the ground, before they closed the distance and kissed each other. It started fiercely, pushed by the adrenaline still rushing through their veins, and ended in a gentle tugging at each other’s lips. It was what he had wished to do with John all this time on the hilltops, but never had had the courage for.

“Mama, Dad, are you finally done? Can I have my lesson now?” a demanding voice asked and forced them to let go of each other. With a chuckle, James turned to see his daughter running towards them from where she had been sitting and reading on the veranda. Somehow she had figured way too fast that a kiss always meant the end of the training between her parents. Which meant her own would start.

When had he started to train his daughter in using a dagger, too? James shook his head and knelt down to be on eye-level with Miranda. It should have disturbed him that his wise and eager daughter wanted to learn how to protect herself, but all he could feel was relief. It meant she would never face Eleanor’s fate.

“You have your blade?” he asked and Miranda nodded eagerly, her green eyes sparkling in the sun. And while James corrected her grip and explained the concept of the importance of knowing the past and the future of one’s enemy, he smiled at the memory of blue eyes and tousled curls. He was so better in understanding him now than he had back then.

* * *

“It seems your fever has gone down.”

James sat on the edge of their bed, his palm on John’s forehead. The man had been bedridden since his return from Skeleton Island, struck with influenza. Nothing else was to be expected when riding through pouring rain. Regardless, James was glad John was back home. Finally.

“Does that mean I’m allowed to leave the bed again? Because it’s damn boring when you two don’t keep me company,” John asked and it made James chuckle. Not here for a week and already complaining.

His eyes swept over his lover’s face. The skin looked paler than usual, but way better than it had two days ago. A rosy shimmer on his cheeks spoke of his recovery, his lips still dry but without the traitorous pearls of sweat. The blue of John’s eyes was as sharp and clear as ever, holding a thousand truths. It struck James every time anew how beautiful John was.

Moving his hand from John’s forehead to his hairline, James started to play with some of the dark curls. They felt soft under his fingers. Tugging at them lightly before he let go, he said, “Move over.”

While John did as he was told, James removed his boots and his belt. Then he snuck under the covers, too, and wrapped the blanket carefully around their frames. His arm slung around John’s waist and pulled him closer and on his side, their legs intertwining and their foreheads touching. Though the fever had gone down, John’s temperature still felt warmer than James’.

“So I’m not allowed to leave bed?” was breathed against James’ lips and it made him smile. His lips brushed John’s slightly and he felt the man tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Before that could happen, James opted for John’s nose and bit it lightly. An indignant grunt was all James received as a reward.

“Hey!”

“I’d say you’re allowed to leave bed, but I hoped you’d enjoy a little company beforehand. I can go if you wish,” James teased and felt an arm reach for him immediately. It would betray any snarky reply that danced on John’s silver tongue and it seemed John knew as much, because he bit back an answer. Instead he placed his free hand on James’ neck and his spread fingers turned James’ head at a better angle for a kiss. This time, neither of them pulled back and James drowned in the taste of John’s lips. They needed to make up for several months of missing each other, and if possible, they pulled even closer. Wherever John’s skin touched his it felt like fire dancing between them. It consumed him thoroughly, left him breathless and drowning, a fire that grew hotter and hotter, as if John’s presence was oil to it. If not for the lack of air, James could have kissed him into eternity.

They let go eventually, but their foreheads never stopped touching. John’s hand remained at James’ neck, playing with some strands of hair, while James himself caressed John’s cheek. He could feel the puffs of breath on his lips, smell the faint scent of the sea that John emitted like a flower on the verge of withering, just to grow anew.

“Will you tell me what happened on your journey?” James asked after a long while of silence. The words sounded loud in the silence, though he had spoken them quietly. His eyes focused on John’s face, on his eyes, to catch every expression and be able to figure what his question might stir in the other man. But there was no flinch and no pain, only exhaustion. The edges of his mouth fell a little, his fingers had stopped twirling James’ hair. But all James did was to wait patiently while his thumb brushed John’s lower lip.

A kiss on the tip of his finger announced John’s answer and James stilled.

“Is it important?” John asked and to James’ surprise, it was genuine and not defensively spoken. With a fluttering heart, James realized that he would get an answer if he insisted on hearing one. A buzzing noise filled his ears, his heartbeat painfully loud. Back on those hills, on top of the dunes, the water so close and yet so far, he had been starved for an answer. What John had given him instead was trust. A trust that had been violated and tested too often during their time as pirates. But now, now they were a family, and answers weren’t that important anymore. Not when John was lying next to him, in his arms, breathing and alive and giving.

“Not when you don’t deem it important.” It was an invitation to tell him when John was ready and willing. It could take two minutes, two days, weeks or years. Maybe James would never know. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that John was back, and Skeleton Island and all that had happened on it lay behind them. He shifted slightly, realizing there was still one question that was nagging at him. Because this one answer would dedicate their future, rather than their past. “Is Captain Flint truly dead now?”

Silence wavered around them, clutching at James’ heart and he dreaded the answer. It was the sole reason John had sailed for this damned island in the first place, to ensure their future, to ensure their daughter’s future.

“As far as I’m aware Miranda’s playing with her right now, teaching the poor bird even more curses.”

For the first time in a long while James couldn’t think of a proper answer and laughed instead. He laughed and laughed and laughed, until his stomach hurt. He even laughed when John rolled his eyes and pulled him into another kiss. James had never been aware how good it felt, to kiss and laugh simultaneously. It felt like being finally free.

* * *

“I swear to god, if this is another pot of soup I’d rather fucking starve,” John muttered when he saw Madi placing some ingredients from their garden into a pot carefully. He had announced his entrance with the thumping sound of his crutch. A sound that had been missing in the days of his illness. It was weird to know John was at home but not moving freely. Good he was back on his feet… foot.

James looked up from his spot at the table, a book in front of him he had opened some minutes ago. It was an easy read, nothing he had read before, but apparently it was one of John’s favorites, and, he mused, it was time for something new. Now though, he watched John perch closer to inspect the contents of the pot. His nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed slightly. Biting his tongue, James kept himself from laughing, while Madi hissed into John’s direction.

“It’s _stew_ , and if you have time to complain, you have time to cook, too. We should switch,” she snapped back, but despite her fed-up tone there was a twinkle in her eyes. She didn’t mean it and to be honest, James was done with soup, too. They had eaten nothing else because John hadn’t been able to hold other meals down.

“Better not. Or else we are the ones to lay in bed for the next few days. Because of food-poisoning,” James chuckled, unable to keep the joke to himself. No matter how much John’s cooking skills had improved since their first meeting, James never tired of reminding him. A glare was pointed into his direction and he stifled open laughter. Ten years, and John still got annoyed by the remark.

“You two have conspired against me during my absence,” he muttered under his breath and Madi rolled her eyes, reaching for a carrot to slice it into bite-sized pieces. The sound of chopping filled the kitchen, mixed with the sizzling fire of the hearth. James could imagine the smell of food that would fill the room in a few more minutes, reminding him of home.

Traveling around the room with his eyes, he took in the furniture, the cupboards filled with spices and cooking tools, the storage boards, the table he sat on and the hearth. Most of it had been built by his own two hands, urging to create a home John could return to. And now he was here, standing in their kitchen like the first time he had seen it hadn’t been just a mere week ago. This was where they all belonged, together, bantering about food and dinner choices.

“Actually, we have conspired against you during your illness,” Madi replied, her voice carried by the sound of knife hitting wood. Her elegant fingers around the handle of the knife looked like she could never use a blade for anything other than chopping vegetables. That was, until John tried to snatch a carrot from the cutting board.

With a twist of her hand, Madi turned the knife in her hand. Before James could even blink she pressed the flat blade on his knuckles and held his hand down. John’s blue eyes widened in shock, and he let go of the piece of carrot he had held between his fingers.

“You will wait until the dinner is ready,” she said calmly and John stepped back, at a loss of words. Which was a sight to behold, because such an event didn’t occur too often. The corners of James’ lips tugged upwards at the helplessness radiating from his husband. They had yet to tell him about the swordfighting lessons.

John turned, his gaze shifting from Madi to James, and he obviously saw the mirth somewhere in James’ face, because he snorted. Then he hobbled over to him and pressed one of his long fingers into James’ chest. Blue eyes stared him down and James was mesmerized by them, the hue of the open sky or the calm water of the ocean on a sunny day. He should have felt threatened, like any other person would when looked at like this, but James never had and never would.

“What have you done?” he growled and despite himself, James’ grin only widened. Maybe he really would get to see a match between Madi and John. He could imagine them dancing around each other, their black hair flying free, shimmering in the sun. The thought shot a hot, simmering flash of arousal through him.

“He has trained me and Miranda,” Madi answered for James, which he was grateful for. One word out of his dry throat would have given away his current state. It didn’t help that John’s breath brushed over his mouth, as intoxicating as a good rum. James almost winced when John straightened again.

“Trained you… and Miranda.” The tone of his deep baritone was flat and it was visible how John tried to sort the thoughts in his mind. Several different emotions flashed over his face at the revelation. “Why?”

Again, it was Madi who answered, her body turning towards them. Her shoulders were pulled back, her head held high. She looked like the queen she was, no matter the simple clothes and the absence of a crown. She had never needed such irrelevant things to make clear who she was. Almost absentmindedly, John reached for the table, using the solid wood to steady him. “So you two never have to go back to what you were to protect me. I never want to be the reason for your separation again.”

The words made even James’ breath catch in his throat. It was an answer he hadn’t expected and something as strong as a sailor’s knot formed in his chest. Different sorts of images flashed through his mind. The men who had tried to rape Madi. Him losing control. John in front of him, his sword raised. Dooley falling to the ground, eyes wide in disbelief. Madi stepping on the open deck of a ship that belonged to a person able to kill without second thought. Eleanor in his arms, dying. Her last breath: “I tried to protect her.”

“Madi… I am… I am sorry. I …”

The words brought him back to the present, his vision zooming back in to see John’s knuckles turn white as he had tightened the grip on the table. All those events had happened so many years ago, but James could clearly see how they pained John. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck stiff, and his back tensed. Without further thinking, James stood.

Simultaneously Madi had left her spot at the hearth too, and both reached for John, drawing him close. While Madi wrapped her arms around his waist to steady him, James loosened his fingers from the table. Their fingers intertwined, his mouth found John’s tanned neck, after his free hand had pushed some of the dark curls away. Broad muscles played under John’s dark shirt, moving slightly with each breath he took. His back fitted so perfectly against James’ chest

“There is nothing, _nothing_ to be sorry for!” Madi’s voice carried so much determination there wasn’t room left for doubt, or guilt. Still John shuddered and James caressed his side, his chin tugged onto the shoulder offered to him. His mouth was next to John’s ear, so he whispered, as to not startle him further.

“You taught me how to leave the past behind. Taught me how not to let the horrid events of the past define me. Stick to your own words, John. It’s over.” He felt the body in front of him slacken, relax into the touch he was given, and take the soothing help for what it was. With a smile, James watched how Madi leaned forward to kiss John, deep and soft. He hummed at the affection he could almost feel himself, hummed again, deeper this time, when Madi put her hand on top of his, which was intertwined with John’s. Another kiss was placed on John’s neck, his teeth scraping the skin slightly.

“Also,” he added, mumbling against the skin, not willing to let go just yet, although he knew he probably needed to because the stew had started to boil and the smell filled the kitchen. But that was for the next moment, not this one. “I can’t wait for Madi to whoop your sweet, round ass. She’s better than you.”

With an indignant hiss, John turned in his embrace and snarled. “Who says that?” But Madi and James only laughed, finally letting go of the man between them.

“Me,” Madi chuckled and returned to her stew, adding the last few chopped vegetables, and then looked over her shoulder, lips pulled upwards teasingly. “Watch out that you won’t get beaten by Miranda. She’s learned a lot.”

John only huffed, seating himself on the stool James had occupied before, and reached for the book, twirling it around. “I want a match,” he demanded, almost pouted, and James couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Can I take bets?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me giddy. Cry with me on [tumblr](https://arzani92.tumblr.com/), because Black Sails will end tomorrow.


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